


The Melancholy Nature of Sanity

by Sickfics



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Furries?, I wrote this for a friend, Knotting, Monsters, idfk, my regulars please don't read this, not exactly animal sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sickfics/pseuds/Sickfics
Summary: So, this started as a R34 of Vordt and Dancer, but the thing is. I've never played the games. So I looked up the lore and it felt kinda. Sad to me? So this is less of a weird porn and more of a piece of (mediocre) 'poetry'. Enjoy?





	The Melancholy Nature of Sanity

The Dancer skulked through the dank, cold dungeon in which she resided. Her long limbs swaying back and forth, almost gracefully but not quite. Her nails clicked and scraped against the stone floor and the noise echoed loudly. Corpses and skeletons littered the dimly lit room, creating a stench that, luckily, she didn’t have the capacity to smell. In her human days, before she was cursed by the ring she still wore, the Dancer wouldn’t have had mere knowledge of such a place. She spent her days in truly royal fashion, eating and laughing and playing. Those days were surely behind her now. 

These days, the Dancers thoughts were mostly static. She occasionally had a fleeting moment of consciousness, but they were few and far between. Some days were, of course, better than others. Today was one of the better days, when the darkness that clouded her mind seemed to calm, like the eye of a hurricane. She knows the peace won’t last. It never does. 

The lulled thoughts were broken by the sound of loud stomps and slams in the hallway. The sounds bounced around, scattering the bugs and rats that resided alongside the former royal. It could be no other than Vordt. He visited her often. Though neither of them could speak anymore, the comfort of being near a kindred spirit made up the potential awkwardness. They communicated largely through grunts and gestures, and, on rare days, when their mind synced up, they would scribble out little drawings and messages to the other. The Dancers rough, large, mouth stretched into what could loosely be considered a smile at the patchy memories. She would often draw him pictures of balls and dancing and grand meals, while he showed her his days as a knight, fighting and practicing with his cohorts. 

The pair erupted into a chorus of happy gurgles when their ‘eyes’ met. Vordt lumbered toward his friend and nuzzled against her. She, in her special day of mental clarity, recognized the motion as affection, which she quickly reciprocated. What a glorious day it is. Two monsters, two hearts, sharing a moment of sanity in such a ruined world. 

Monsters, however, wasn’t entirely accurate. If one took the time to examine either of them, they would see how entirely wrong that term was. They had been human, once, after all. 

No, monster was not right at all. There was no perfect term to describe the pair, but “animal” was probably best. They survived, most of the time, on raw instinct and reflex. They ate whatever and whoever they could, tended to stay in their ‘habitat’, and, quite bluntly, fucked whenever possible. It was like a constant loop played inside of them: eat, sleep, reproduce. Eat, sleep, reproduce. Eat, sleep, reproduce. It was endless, and today was no different. 

Vordt leaned forward and playfully gnawed at her scratchy neck, and the Dancer nipped back at him. She turned, arching her back dramatically and presenting to her mate. He threw a clunky ‘arm’ over her, straddling his fellow beast. Vordt buried his teeth in her back, establishing dominance and holding her in place. He began thrusting his hips into the air, and the dancer bucked back, trying to meet him halfway, to no avail. She huffed, growling frustratedly. 

She wisped one long, gangly arm behind her and wrapped her fingers around his beastly cock. She guided it into her entrance, her hole becoming slick with lube and anticipation. Vordt indulged in short, quick strokes. Vapid, empty, was he. There was no regard to her or her frustrations. Why would he care? The former man was not interested in love. He didn’t have the capacity for it. He only experienced the tip of the iceberg. He only skimmed the surface of life, of love, anymore. She knew, or rather, didn’t know, to put up with it. Out of this rough meeting would come satiation, an itch being scratched, and possibly offspring. She, consciously, didn’t know why exactly her drive to breed was so prevalent. All beings, especially the simpler of the bunch, wax and yearn for children, for something to pass on their genes to. It was simple evolution, survival of the fittest, nothing more. 

Deep down, in what was left of her humanity, she almost wished it was more. If she had even a bit more of herself, would she love him? If they had met, when they were both human, would they have become close? She dares not dig for the answer. What is the point of existence, of sex, without love, to a person? Surely the dancer, not the monster or the animal, but the daughter, the woman, the princess, would be appalled at who she would become. This festering, ghastly apparition. Sometimes, the Dancer would catch her reflection in a puddle after a storm. For reasons, unbeknownst to her, her eyes would leak. The salty liquid would drip down her cheeks and off of her chin, into the puddle, rippling her reflection. ‘Who is that?’ Her heart seemed to ask. No one knew the answer, especially not her. 

Vordt’s nails, claws, rather, raked across her stomach, drawing out a sharp hiss. He filled her with his disgustingly sticky, warm semen. The sheer volume of it couldn’t be contained within her, despite the knot that tied them together. Her sex wept with cum; it spurted down her thighs and onto the ground, each drop pounding in her ears like gunfire. 

It took an achingly long time for the knot to deflate, but as soon as it did, there was an overwhelming air of relief. Vordt stalked off to a dry corner, thudding to the ground and promptly falling asleep, leaving the Dancer alone with the aftermath. She rubbed at her raw, marked skin with an agitated affection. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a puddle of rain that had dripped in through the rotting ceiling. Her eyes met her own, and, for a moment, she remembered what it was like to feel human. Regret surged through her skin, making the Dancer lurch forward. Why, pray tell, was she cursed with clarity now, of all times? Why was such a beast, so backwards and primitive, given these fleeting, terrifying moments of consciousness? This was, simply, the melancholy nature of sanity.


End file.
